I stepped into her, sliding my hands around her waist. “And here I thought you hated my chaos.”

“Only because it scared me. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a creature of habit.”

A laugh rumbled through me. “Who, you?”

She laughed in echo. “The biggest shocker is that I’m admitting it, I’m sure. But … you make it less scary.”

“And you make routine anything but boring. I woke up at nine the other day and it felt like half my day was gone.”

She wound her arms around my neck, threading her fingers. “Look at you, acting like a grown-up.”

“And look at you. A little bit wild.”

“Oh, I don’t know that I’d go that far, but I’m afraid the taste I’ve had might have ruined me forever. I don’t think I can go back.”

“Then don’t,” I said against her lips. And I took them to remind her why she should stay.

I wrapped her up in my arms, pulled her as close as I could get her, felt every inch of connection from thigh to breast. She was as familiar to me as she was a discovery, the girl I’d known, the woman I’d come to need. This body had been mine for weeks.

Now I wanted the heart inside.

Never had I known a woman who held the power to change me. But Tess did. And as scared as I should have been about that, I wasn’t. Because I wasn’t just discovering her.

I was discovering myself.

She brought out the best in me, settled me in a way that didn’t feel like chains. It felt like roots, alive and sinking into the earth, thirsty and seeking. The depth those roots had twisted had been misjudged until tonight. Until I thought I would lose her but kept her instead.

No, I wasn’t scared. I was determined. Hopeful. Zinging with possibility.

Because Tess was my new adventure.

Slowly, I kissed her. Tasted the sweetness of her. Felt the warmth of her. Deliberate hands slid down her waist, under her shirt, up her ribs. A flick of my fingers, and her bra unhooked. I broke the kiss, separated our bodies. She reached for me, but I took her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm, returned it to her side.

She stood still other than the rise and fall of her chest and the flash of her lashes, her face upturned and lips parted, waiting.

My fingertips spoke for me, brushing her cheek, skimming her neck with possession. The stroke of her breast became a squeeze, the weight in my palm exactly right. I wanted her skin. Wanted to see the pale of her nipple as it tightened and rose.

Her shirt was gone before I decided to take it off. Those thirsty fingertips skated over her shoulders, taking the straps with them. Down her arms they went and to the floor. But I didn’t register the motion. Not once that flesh I’d wanted was exactly where I wanted it.